


Rattled in Teeth And Torn From Bone

by evil_bunny_king



Series: Of the Sun [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abora Lavellan, F/M, Sensuality, Shamelessly self-indulgent writing, teehee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evil_bunny_king/pseuds/evil_bunny_king
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He starts with her fingertips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rattled in Teeth And Torn From Bone

He starts with her fingertips.

Short-nailed, rough, whispers of dagger grips and rope - he traces a web of scars along the line of her index finger, kissing the knuckle where it ends; each knuckle, lingering. The fragile splay of bones pressed against her skin, arcing to the wrist - he follows them too, trailing slowly around the swell of her thumb, folding a kiss into the heat of her palm.

Next is the crease of her elbow - just briefly, sweetly, the ghost of soft fingers, open lips - and it’s so tempting to taste (the first, and when he does he know it will not be enough, but it will  _be_ , and so he doesn’t stop) but her arms are open, dragging-

He wonders how he deserves this. Deserves her. He is a wraith and she is his shadow. And yet-

A sigh above him, soft with pleasure, and he looks up to meet her eyes, burning with the beginnings of want. His smile is unwitting.

Before him, like this, she is -

(unknowing, unknown, blazing, brilliant, a twist of a word latched to a forgotten tongue)

He lingers at the sweep of her neck, the juncture of shoulder, hands dropping to smooth the curve of her bare waist. She is breathless, pinned, ensnared within the orlesian sheets. He can see her pulse fluttering against the skin, tantalising, a flush painting honeyed skin blood-dark. He grins and settles there, dragging lips and tongue against its beat as she trembles. (Oh how I will make you shake, ar'lath, shudder and bend until the edge of breath and breaking)

Her hand wriggles free and catches on his bare shoulders, drawing blunt nails down his back until it reaches the waistband of his leggings. His skin quivers under her touch and he bites her for it, breath catching when her responding sigh is almost a moan.

“Solas,” she whispers, struggling to unearth her other arm. Her eyes glitter in the candle light when he looks up, a teasing exasperation harboured there. “Are you going to get a move on?”

He laughs (when did it become so easy?) - she’s impatient, and caustic, and his, all his, squirming so delightfully when he dips his tongue into the valley between her breasts-

He smooths a hand down to her stomach, slow, weighted, holding her gaze - challenging the challenger, a cocksure bet to be certain.

Yet when she smiles - it’s like veilfire, demanding, aching, and he licks it from her lips, words half-forming on his tongue to be stolen before breath.

“Ma nuvenin.”

(Always)

**Author's Note:**

> Teehee. Thesis break. <3


End file.
